Every Time that it Rains
by bsbvinphan
Summary: Chris Varick songfic. Enjoy.


PG for sexual allusion and a bit of language. Gotta love those frustrated muttered curses ;D I don't own this wonderful song, nor do I own Chris Varick, and blah blah blah. Enjoy.  
  
~~~~  
  
"Damn it," Chris growled contemptuously as he glared at the black monitor. His eyes flipped back to the screen by their own accord. "Shit, still delayed." For the next hour, his eyes darted to and fro, sometimes watching the clock, sometimes glancing at the departure screen. He thought long and hard about the weekend he'd just spent in the Lonestar State. Meetings. A lot of meetings. He just kept telling himself that he had to get his life back on track somehow.   
  
Then it began to rain.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," the slow, female voice, with its hint of a southern twang, came over the intercom, "To our customers on flight 6635 with service to Oklahoma City, due to technical problem, service will be delayed until further notice. Thank you for your patience and please, enjoy your stay in beautiful Austin, Texas."  
  
"Yeah, no fuckin joke," Chris hissed bitterly. He snatched his suitcase from the floor and began sifting his way through the crowded terminal. 'Might as well grab some coffee while I wait,' he thought. His muscular frame swerved in and out of the weaving sea of bodies with little difficulty, just as it had in his Wall Street heyday in The Big Apple.  
  
He settled down in a small, nameless corner of the busy food court, and sipped his coffee as he stared out the window. As the large drops splattered violently against the inch-thick, double-paned glass, Chris' memory took hold of his every conscious thought and wrenched them to a night long in the past.   
  
Crazy as it may have seemed to anyone else, Chris could see clearly the image of a pink cotton dress as it made it's painfully slow descent to the floor; he could smell the intoxicating scent of fresh lavender perfume, mixed with the hanging odor of cigarette smoke and the sickeningly pungent aroma of the special kind of trucker sweat, found only in middle-American roadside stops. He could feel the young woman's soft skin radiating it's warmth to him. He could see her beautiful smile. He could taste her lips.  
  
"Damn it Chris, every time!" he scolded. He then concentrated on the days-old editon of the Austin Caller that he'd found lying on the table when he'd arrived. The news, however, of a young boy who'd won the gold medal in the Austin City Public School District's Spelling Olypics did not satisfy him. He continued flipping through the pages. "Ahh, here it is," he cooed contently, "the Vicky's Secret sale flyers." His eyes wandered over the elegantly arranged, scantily clad body of Tyra Banks, and he could feel his memories drifting far, far away. "Oh yeah Tyra, you are a god."  
  
He imagined his goddess. Her velvet, chocolate skin aching for his touch. His lips pursed as he imagined kissing her; giving her sweet, soft, fluttering kisses. Then he thought about what she might be wearing over that hot little black bra-and-panties number. He tried his damnest to imgine a sharp business suit. He could see the charcoal and gray ensemble that fit Miss Banks' figure perfectly. The jacket flared out just below the waist, pants hugging every spot infallibly. His minds-eye traveled slowly from her toes to her thighs, then over her stomach to her chest, then finally to her chest. "Graagh!" he cursed softly, for it was not Tyra's face atop the stunning spread, but the waitress'.  
  
Chris admitted to himself that he was not over her yet, nor did he think he ever would be. "Because every time that it rains, I just see her dress fallin on the floor," he said softly, as if he were confiding in the nearly naked image of the supermodel. Her eyes were with him as he continued to spill his guts.  
  
"I was drivin to L.A. to meet up with some business acquaintances, and I got stuck in Oklahoma overnight. Well, I stopped at this little roadside cafe-type deal, and I decided to grab some coffee. Just as I was walking in, a man in a uniform was runnin out, screaming something about quitting because of the shitty pay and long hours or somethin. There was a woman on his heels, pleading for him to stay there and help her, but he got into the only other car in the lot besides mine, and took off, leaving this crazy cloud of dust. Well, I walked into the empty diner and held open the door for the woman as she came stomping back in.  
  
"She asked me, 'What can I get ya?' and I ordered coffee, a Coke, and a grilled cheese sandwich. She grabbed a cup and poured my coffee, then threw down a few quarters. 'Play somethin on the jukebox for me, will ya?' Her voice was soft and gentle, even though she'd been left to work all by her lonesome. And Tyra, this was out in the middle of fuckin nowhere, mind you. So anyway, I nodded and walked over to the jukebox, and seein that it was mainly comprised of backwoods bluegrass bullshit, I had to weed my way through it. I found three songs that I could handle: 'Hotel California' by the Eagles, 'Free Fallin' by Tom Petty, and 'Please come to Boston,'" he shuddered as he gave his explination, "the live Tori Amos version."  
  
And with that, Chris could hear the sweet sound of the opening bars of "Hotel California" as it rang out through the diner in his memory, and through his head. He was no longer talking to Tyra now, but simply allowing himself to be caught up in his reverie. His eyes took on a slight glaze as he cast himself far back into his memory bank, pulling out every detail. He could still remember how the rain sounded as it started softly beating on the thin roof of the diner. He could see the waitress. He could see her nametag. Alexus.  
  
He leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable. This was going to be a long daydream. He watched the picture show in his head with the dim feeling of deja vu... Had he seen this movie before? At any rate, he continued watching. He watched, with full sensory stimulation - sound, sight, touch, taste, scent - as the young woman's light brown hair, nearly the color of his own skin, fell loosely to her shoulders when she pulled off the hairnet. He was focused on the agility of her petite hands as they whipped the plate containing his sandwich around, cutting the food with an expertise found only in talented chefs. All the while, he could hear her humming along with the music. He'd chosen his selections fromt he music machine and walked back to the bar, and was promptly handed his grilled cheese.  
  
"Enjoy, darlin," she said softly. Chris found himself strangely drawn to this country bumpkin farmer's daughter. He checked her out as any man would, and found the overall rating satisfactory. After a long time of no words exchanged between the two, the sweet sound of Tori Amos' voice filled the room.  
  
"Please come to Boston / For the springtime..."  
  
"Hey, good choice! That's my favorite song on the entire machine," she chirpped. Chris could see that she was smiling, and was happy to help. Before he knew it, she was around the counter and holding her hand out for him to take. "Come on stranger," she said with a voice sweet as honey, "dance with me." Chris felt a tad silly, but smiled, nodded, and obliged the young lady. He'd been taught never to disrespect a woman, and he felt that refusing her invitation would be a form of disrespect. And hell, why not have a little dance? No one else was around, and it was raining outside to boot. He certainly wasn't goin anywhere anytime soon.  
  
"Please come to Denver / With the snowfall / We'll move up into the mountains..."  
  
"What's your name?" Alexus asked, pulling away from Chris to look into his eyes. He answered her with a calm, gentle voice, and breathed deeply as she lay her head back onto his chest. They danced for a long time. Longer than the song, and the one that came after. They danced well into the night and the better part of the hideous storm that had settled fatefully upon them. Chris smiled tenderly as he inhaled the girl's scent. Lavender. His mother had always worn lavender.  
  
"Chris?" Alexus said softly. She pulled away and repeated herself. He couldn't decide if the way she said his name was a question, statement, or command. Quietly, she moved away from his grip and untied the white smock apron she wore, and let it fall onto the barstools behind her. He noted the look in her eyes. It was a hungry, foreign look. One he'd never had settled upon his body before. She smiled slyly, and continued dancing with him, only this time, she took the lead. They moved over to the front door and she stopped to lock it, leaving the rain and the rest of the world outside and out of their minds. Then they travelled to the lightswitch panel, and hand-in-hand, they flipped every switch to its "off" position, shutting down the slow, steady hum of electricity. The lights flickered off, as did the large, neon sign out front.  
  
This time when she pulled away, the look in her eyes was different. Not so hungry, but more... Firey. Full of desire. She wanted him and she knew that he wanted her. He watched intently as her slender arm snaked around to her back; he could hear the zipper as it moved down; he could see the dress become loose around her frame, and he was glad to see it touch the ground.  
  
"Fuck, Chris!" he scolded. He shook his head violently, trying to drive out the image of the naked waitress and the dramatically stored scene that played out like something from a cheap pornographic movie. Luckily for Chris, the rain had let up way back, and the monitors were displaying his flight number with the new phrase, "on time."  
  
"Yes!" he called, jumping from the chair. He nearly knocked over a little girl and her parents as he made a mad dash to his gate. He'd made it just in time to board and hopped on the plane with the utmost eagerness. "Here I come Alexus," he said softly.  
  
After hours on the stuffy, confined prop jet, he was finally back in Oklahoma. He'd been waiting on this day for over a year. Everytime it would rain, he'd think of his September night with Alexus in the diner in the middle of nowhere. He could hardly believe the supreme relief he felt when, one late night, during one of the most terrifying storms in the history of New York City, he recieved a phone call from the one and only: his waitress. He promised to visit her on his next business trip, which was coming up soon, fortunately. So, long story short, here he was, going back to see her. When he climbed up the jetway, he saw her face and almost broke out in tears. She was really there. After all the time they'd spent apart, she was finally in his arms again.  
  
"I've missed you," Chris confided. Alexus replied with a similar sentiment, and they went on about themselves, eventually climbing into her small car, and heading back to the diner. Things were a little awkward, this having been only the second time they'd met, but it seemed right. He hadn't noticed the pink uniform and the glass of Coke, cup of coffee and grilled cheese sandwich, accompanied by a single quarter, because he was too busy kissing her lips.  
  
He turned around and smiled at the sight. He grabbed the quarter and walked to the jukebox, noticing that it hadn't changed. He placed the quarter gingerly into the machine, and pressed the correct buttons for "Please Come to Boston." Alexus walked slowly around the counter, and when they first tried to dance, their heads collided, he stepped on her foot, and the apron was giving her a difficult run. They continued to stumble and blunder through the eintire song, and when they reached to turn off the sign, the friction from the small place and the approaching storm caused a shock of static electricy. Determined to make this night perfect, Chris laughed it all off and allowed a goofy grin to plaster his face as Alexus grew frustrated with her highly uncooperative dress.  
  
"Maybe we should just try bein friends," he said jokingly. She said he had a point, he said he was joking, and they talked. They finally decided to just call it friends.  
  
"So whatever thing we had, it's over?" Chris asked to clarify. alexus nodded solemnly in agreement, and he placed a quick kiss on her lips, before walking out the door.  
  
"Chris!"she called affter him, "We're friends, I can give you a ride to the airport," she smiled.  
  
"No, I'm good, I need to think." His pain was deep, and he couldn't imagine why. This was just some hilljack waitress at a ramshackled diner in bum-fucked-Oklahoma.  
  
"You'll ruin your suit," Alexus said softly, smiling. He laughed throatily and smiled, nodding. He accepted her ride, and decided to check into the airport hotel.  
  
"Good-bye," Chris said softly, kissing her for the last time, "I'll miss you."  
  
"I'll miss you too," she cooed softly, "And our night... Our good night... It's a memory that I'll relive over and over again." He smiled and nodded again.  
  
"Every time that it rains," he finished as he watched her car lights grow further and further away, until they were lost in a sea of taillights and he couldn't tell which were hers. He walked back into the airport and headed toward the hotel with one phrase on his lips: "Every time."  
  
-----  
"Every Time that it Rains" - Garth Brooks  
  
Stuck in an airport in Austin, all of the flights are delayed   
And as the rain keeps fallin' the mem'ries keep callin' me back   
To another time and place   
Back to a rainy day in Oklahoma  
She was workin' at this roadside cafe   
And it was just her and me and looked like it would be   
At least 'til the storm rolled away   
  
I played "Please Come to Boston" on the jukebox   
She said hey that's my favorite song   
The next thing I knew the song was through   
And we were still dancin' along   
And with that look in her eyes she pulled from me   
Then she pulled off that apron she wore   
And with her hand in mine we turned off the sign   
And locked the rain outside the door   
  
Every time that it rains I can hear her heart callin'   
It rains, I can see that dress fallin'   
The storm clouds roll on, still the memory remains   
Every time that it rains   
  
One late rainy night I got a phone call   
So I went back to see her again   
And through the dnce we both stumbled and with the buttons we fumbled   
So we decided just to call it at friends   
If we ever had a thing now it's over and only the memory remains   
Of a roadside cafe on a September day   
I relive every time that it rains   
  
Every time that it rains I can hear her heart callin'   
It rains, I can see that dress fallin'   
The storm clouds roll on, still the memory remains   
Every time that it rains 


End file.
